


got two tickets to iron maiden, baby

by lastwingedthing



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/pseuds/lastwingedthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“We’re the kids other parents told their kids not to hang with in high school.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	got two tickets to iron maiden, baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bergann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bergann/gifts).



> Written for bergann in the Spring Fling fic exchange. Many many thanks to clavicular for the beta!
> 
> I tagged this as underage - the characters are seventeen when they're having sex.

_Ray leaves Missouri when he’s fourteen years old. Leaves it all behind, numb bare feet on the wet early-morning grass, momma’s posters up on the walls of their trailer and the long winter nights where the air scorched and burned like cold fire. No-one has any money and the summer nights are all hot and breathless and in April the reek of fertiliser blows from the springtime fields; and he leaves it all behind, all of the things that he knew._

 _His momma’s happier here. She loves Jack and California and base housing and her job, and she’s wanted, and she’s loved._

 _It rains all winter. No frost, no snow. And in springtime Jack brings home divorce papers, and standing under the plumeria tree Ray’s momma takes a deep sweet breath and says, we ain’t running home with our tails between our legs. He can’t drive me away._

 _They pack up their things and take the bus to Los Angeles. To the city. Ray’s momma knows a woman who can get her a job, they’ll find somewhere to stay, she has a little bit saved up to get them by –_

 _And it starts there, if anywhere. The day Ray walked into his new class with his head up high, little white trailer trash kid with a Missouri mouth, ready to kick and swear and fight the whole goddamn world if he needed to. Didn’t even matter that he’d never ever win._

 _They have years to learn each other, years for fighting and stupid games and hot summer nights they spend outside._

 _But the very first moment is this, broad-shouldered shaven-head Tony looking up at Ray from his seat at the back of the class._

 _Their eyes meet across the room._

***

They find Brad a block away from the target, losing themselves in the thick shadows between warehouses. It’s a cold night, damp and overcast. And bright: the night is full of orange light, diffuse glow reflecting from beneath the low clouds.

No-one followed them here. They get ready in silence.

There’s a smooth sweet rhythm to this. Final checks, breathing steadily as they tug gloves and balaclavas into place.

The thrill starting in Ray’s gut is electric, lighting him up. Down here by the port the air’s got that dank sea reek, catching in the back of the throat; it smells like excitement, like fear. Adrenaline’s always the sweetest high.

Brad checks them over, finally; Tony tugs Ray’s balaclava lower. And then Brad nods sharply, gives them a thumbs up. His eyes are bright and blue, crinkling up at the corners. He’s smiling, under the mask.

They’ve been planning this for two months. Through weeks of school and classes, Ray’s shitty weekend job. Brad’s fucking crazy, but he’s the only other guy they know who’d be into shit like this. And he’s good. They’re ready.

“Let’s fucking do this,” Tony hisses, and they’re running, moving into low easy lope.

And then up the side of the building, over the rooftops. They’ll break in from above, and fucking _no-one_ will see them coming.

No-one will ever know they were there at all.

They do it because they’re bored as shit; they do it because they can.

They do it because Ray and Tony are going to join the Marines one day. They’re going to be Recon.

They’re going to be the best.

***

Late spring afternoon and Ray is leaving the house in a tight controlled rush, hands shoved deep in his pockets. It’s dim and grey outside, and the clouds hang low in the evening sky. He slams the car door closed behind him and takes off in a burst of rusty grinding sounds. From here it’s ten minutes drive to Tony’s place. Ray keeps his hands steady on the wheel and breathes.

It’s gonna be fine. He’s gonna be fine. His momma – well, he knows why she’s mad like this, today of all spring days. He understands.

He’s gonna be fine.

Tony greets him with a laugh and a punch to the shoulder, leaning in close. “What’s up, dog,” he says, not gently, like it’s any other day.

“Not much,” Ray replies easily, and punches him right back.

Tony smiles at him just for a second, eyes warm and bright.

They head down the hall together, tussling, feet skidding a little along the slick floor. Tony gets Ray in a headlock pretty quickly but Ray keeps struggling, makes Tony work for the hold. They crash into a couple walls on the way, but Tony’s ma’s not here to yell.

Tony’s sister is heading out of her room when they pass it, hair pulled round in a sleek dark tumble and little heels click-clicking across the floor.

“Don’t even start with me, boy,” she warns, looking down her nose at Ray. In the heels she’s got at least an inch on Ray, not that he’ll ever admit it.

Underneath the makeup her face looks tired and worn.

Ray shakes his head and smiles like everything’s normal. “Aw, baby, don’t be like that. You know you couldn’t even handle a real man like me.”

At that she actually bursts out laughing, deep belly laughter like Ray hasn’t heard from her in years. “Sure, sweetheart, you keep thinking that,” she says, and leans over to ruffle his hair as she leaves. Her hands are almost gentle, soft against his skin.

***

Getting in to the main building goes smooth as clockwork, everything moving perfectly into place. They hit the top-floor a little before one in the morning, and Ray can’t help it; as he steps across the threshold he tugs his balaclava up and whispers, “ _Fuck_ yeah. We rolled in here like motherfucking ninjas, homes. Look at us.”

Tony rolls his eyes and slaps Ray up the back of the head until he puts the mask back on, but it’s worth it anyway. Being quiet for too long sucks the hairy fucking asshole.

Before they leave, Brad stops and looks sheepish; then he pulls a marker out of his pocket and scribbles a tiny figure on the pale wallpaper at his eye level beside the door.

It’s an awkward little stick figure. And it’s carrying a sword.

They head down, smiling, still wary – it’s not over yet. They can’t get back out the way they came.

There’s a security guard by the west door, right in the side corner where they hadn’t planned for one to be. She’s yawning, leaning back in her chair with her arms folded behind her head, and Tony spots her in plenty of time. But she’s blocking their exit, and they’re going to have to change the plan.

Brad looks shitty. Brad fucking _hates_ changing the plan.

But Ray can roll with it. They sneak back the way they came, quiet steps on the rough dusty wood. There’s another exit – and another guard appears, stomping noisily along like something out of a dumb comedy.

Ray’s eyes are wide, heart beating double time in his chest. Adrenaline going into overdrive; almost feels good, the way it makes him feel collected and icy cold. Ray doesn’t panic when shit goes down, not ever.

And this guy still hasn’t seen them. Brad gestures and melts away behind them, heading down a side corridor, off to make a distraction happen somewhere else.

He always loves to play the fucking martyr.

But it leaves Ray and Tony here, on their own with the guard headed straight for them. They can hear him humming to himself. Madonna, it sounds like. Ray isn’t sure.

Tony grabs his elbow and yanks him sideways. There’s no cover in the hallway they’re in, nowhere to hide in all the empty offices they’ve passed. But two steps back and Tony finds them a little storage closet, drags Ray in and crams them both together in the musky darkness with mops and sharp-edged buckets digging into their legs.

The security guard strolls past them, whistling Bad Romance.

After a long moment, Ray switches on his flashlight, a tiny blue light in the pitch black.

“Seriously, homes?” he whispers, blinking in the brightness. “A closet? That the best you can do?”

Tony tugs up his own balaclava with a world-weary sigh. “Shut the fuck up, dog. Fuckin’ white man, always gotta be complaining, never gets anything done for himself. You don’t wanna be stuck in here with the Mexican who just saved your ass, fine. Go outside, hang with fucking Dorothy and his rainbows out there instead.”

Ray snorts and lets his eyes drop lower. Tony’s standing so close to him, leaning in towards the wall. “Well, I guess we know what to do if he catches us, Poke. I’d bet he’d go for it, we’ll distract him with our forbidden romance. And, like, tongue.” He grins a little, licks at the corner of his mouth before he keeps going. Tony’s eyes follow the movement.

“Such a sad story, motherfucking Shakespeare right here in this closet.” Ray lowers his voice, looks up at Tony through his lashes. “Tell you what, homes. I’ll even let you be my Romeo.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You really wanna go there, white boy?” But he’s leaning closer, leaning _in_. Ray’s acutely aware of every inch of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth radiating off him like fire. Tony’s eyes are shadowed, hot and dark.

Tony sets his hand on the wall beside Ray’s head, fingers spread and inches away from Ray’s cheek. He’s smiling now, teeth flashing white in the low light. “You really want to go there,” he says again, softer, husky.

Ray sucks in a breath. He was shivery before, riding that wave of fear and adrenaline, but now, _this_ …

There’s a low hissing sound from the hall outside.

“God _damn_ , Brad,” Ray says, half groaning. But Tony’s already pulling away.

Ray switches the torch off before they open the door. There’s light out here, though, coming in orange from the streetlights outside.

When he sees them stepping out of the doorway Brad rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it should hurt. He shakes his head, mutters, “You’re fucking kidding me,” through the thick fabric across his mouth.

Ray just rolls his eyes right back, purses up his lips into a kissy face at Brad before he yanks his balaclava back down.

Tony shakes his head at them both and takes the lead.

***

There isn’t much space in Tony’s room. They squeeze onto the bed together with the ease of long practice, kicking aside Tony’s blankets to make room.

Ray rolls onto his back, staring up at the cracks across the ceiling.

“You okay, dog?” Tony says, quietly.

Ray’s mouth turns up into a half-smile. “Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it. Christ, Poke, I’m used to it by now. Momma always gets shitty this time of year. She’s just getting on my ass about college again, it isn’t like I haven’t heard it all before.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, I hear you. Pity your momma hates mine, they could sit down together and have a fucking party. Fucking crazy, idealistic, American Dream party.”

He’s interrupted when the woman next door starts yelling at her boyfriend, her voice coming in loud and clear through Tony’s open window. Tony and Ray look at each other for a minute, and then they start mouthing along, fucking goddamn lazy piece of shit, who does he think he is, who the _fuck_ does he think he is. And then they’re losing it, laughing together.

When they calm down Ray’s head slides forward, ending up pillowed on Tony’s thigh. Tony doesn’t push him away.

Ray almost closes his eyes. It’s comfortable here, warm. After a minute Tony runs a hand across his head, scrubbing at the short fine stubble there. “Goddamn, Ray,” he says. “I can’t fucking stand that kind of bullshit. Ma keeps telling me I need to get an education, get the fuck out of L.A, go somewhere better. Where the _fuck_ am I gonna go that’s better, man. Same fucking fools anywhere you go.”

Ray laughs a little. “Fucking sing it, brother,” he says.

“I mean – hell, Ray.” Ray tilts his head, meets Tony’s eyes while he talks. “This place is a fucking hellhole. But you know what the most segregated city in the United States is? Ain’t anywhere in the South, dog, or L.A, or any shit like that. It’s goddamn _Milwaukee_. Fucking Wisconsin, all those frolicking cows and dairymaids and lakes and shit, should have known not to trust those fools. Segregating the brown cows from the white cows, getting all white supremacist on our asses. All those nice fucking do-good white people. I don’t wanna join their world.”

Ray smiles up at him, lazy and slow. “Gonna have to suck it up, Poke. You’re joining the white man’s military. Can’t fucking deny who’s gonna be in charge.” He smirks a little, leaning up. “Least we’ll get to shoot people, right? Turn us into real men, make my momma proud.”

Tony just shakes his head. “Ma ain’t gonna be proud of me,” he says quietly.

Ray looks away.

And then Tony shakes his head and reaches out, hand coming to rest on his thigh, right by Ray’s face.

“You wanna head round to Jason’s place?” Ray asks abruptly, starting to pull away. “Use his fucking X-box, some shit like that?” He’s talking a little fast now, nervous.

“Nah, Ray,” Tony says slowly. He meets Ray’s eyes, and Ray swallows, hard.

He licks his lips, looking up at Tony. “You wanna…?”

The corners of Tony’s mouth are turning up, tiny wicked little smile lighting up his eyes.

“Oh yeah,” he breathes out, eyes fixed on Ray. “Get the fuck up here, c’mon. Move it.”

Ray moves. He fucking loves it, straddling Tony like this, knees planted on either side of Tony’s thighs. Loves the way it feels, legs spread and open and all of Tony’s broad hard body pressing tight against his own.

He meets Tony’s mouth hard, chapped dry lips and then the slick wetness of a tongue sliding into his mouth. They kiss for a while, rough and wet and dirty. Ray keeps biting at Tony’s lip, sucking on it until the soft flesh swells under his tongue.

They’re seventeen. It doesn’t take long before they’re rocking up against each other, Tony’s hands sliding down Ray’s back and up his shirt, Ray’s mouth moving down to lick over that spot under Tony’s ear that always makes him squirm. They’re breathing hard, and Tony keeps making these low little noises, breathy grunts driving straight to Ray’s dick.

Tony’s hands slide further up Ray’s shirt, rucking it up. “Fuck,” he mutters against Ray’s ear, voice tense. “Get your fucking shirt off.” His voice is low and intimate, breath hot.

Ray bites him, sucking hard on the skin above Tony’s collarbone. He pulls back, cups Tony’s face in his hand. “Why?” he says, teasing. “You gonna make it worth my while?”

For an answer Tony’s hands tighten around his waist. “Fucking typical,” he mutters. “Making me do all the work…” He tugs at Ray’s shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion, and Ray moans.

Tony smirks and strokes his fingers over Ray’s chest again, lingering on his nipples. Ray leans down to bite him again just for the look that’s on his face, pushes down until Tony’s on his back and Ray’s crouched over him.

Tony’s smirk widens. His hands settle on Ray’s hips. “What, you thought you were gonna be on top, white boy?” he says huskily, and flips them.

And Ray arches up against him and _moans_.

“Yeah,” Tony whispers, against the skin of Ray’s neck. His hands are sliding down, fumbling with the button of Ray’s jeans. “Oh, fuck, yeah. You fucking love that, don’t you, you love it…”

Ray wraps his hands around the back of Tony’s skull and pulls him down again, kisses him desperately. It fucks up Tony’s angle, makes it hard for Tony to get their jeans down, but Ray doesn’t care; he has to kiss Tony. Has to do it _now_.

They kiss some more, until they’re both moaning and rocking into each other. Tony finally pulls away, kneels up to start tugging at his own belt, and Ray reaches out with his free hand to cup Tony’s cock through his jeans. He scrapes his nails down the denim, down the line of the center seam, and Tony bucks into it, crying out for a moment until he shoves a fist in his mouth to stifle the noise.

They get his jeans open together, finally. Tony’s cock is stiff and swollen, jutting out dark and angry red. Ray wraps his hand around him and tugs, twisting up on the downstroke just the way Tony likes it. And then Tony comes across Ray’s chest, face twisted up in pleasure, thighs trembling where they press against Ray’s own.

Ray can’t stand it, gets his own jeans down and his own hand around his cock. Tony just watches him dazed and sleepy-eyed for three rough pulls, but then his hand comes down, wrapping around Ray’s, and it’s over, Ray’s done.

He closes his eyes when he comes; focuses on Tony’s hand, wrapped so tight around his own.

***

On Tuesday Tony and Ray cut class and head into the city. Tuesday is two hours of American history bullshit right in the middle of the day, and no one should have to put up with that shit. Tuesday fucking sucks.

They walk right by the big malls, same clothing stores and Starbucks passing them in endless repetition. Skinny jeans and frappa-crappa-cinos aren’t Ray’s style. He drinks cheap diner coffee, bitter and black.

The rundown old cinema with half-price Tuesdays is what they’re looking for. When they check it out there’s an afternoon screening of something boring, a generic action movie that came out a month ago. They grin at each other, buy their tickets, and duck into the back row.

It’s been a week since they had any real time alone together. Ray sees Tony every day of his life, and it’s driving him crazy.

The whole theatre is deserted. No one else there, no one to see when Ray turns his head and leans in and kisses Tony full on the mouth.

They don’t make out for very long, can’t stand to. They’re barely past the previews by the time Tony’s hand slides down between Ray’s legs, stuttering teasingly over his cock.

Ray pulls back a little, looks at Tony’s face in the dim flickering light. He feels – feels so much, fear and need and caring in a knotted tangle in his chest. But Ray knows what he wants.

He drops to his knees in front of Tony. And Tony gasps, shocked, awestruck, that soft little noise he only ever makes when he’s been driven practically helpless with lust.

Ray gets his hands on Tony’s heavy thighs and spreads them, leans in to start working on his belt.

“Tony,” he whispers, barely audible over the dialogue coming in from the screen. “Let me. Please.”

Ray’s jerked Tony off so many times before. He knows exactly what his cock looks like, how it feels hot and heavy in his hand. He’s licked Tony’s come off his fingers, smirked and watched Tony’s eyes helplessly tracking the motion of his tongue.

None of that was like this. There’s a raw intimacy to it, the pressure of Tony’s cockhead nudging against his lips, the stretch as he fits his mouth around the head. It’s more difficult than Ray was expecting, too; difficult to keep his teeth covered, to keep a steady rhythm going. He can’t fit in nearly as much as he’d thought he could.

It’s still the hottest thing he’s ever done.

And Tony’s moaning too, rocking up into it. His hands tangle in Ray’s hair, stroking over Ray’s cheek.

“Ray,” he groans out, sweet and low. “Oh Jesus, Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Ray…”

There’s a scuffling noise right beside them. Footsteps – oh shit, fucking goddamn shit, someone’s in here and Ray didn’t _hear_ them –

A flashlight glares over them, brutally bright.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, filthy fucking faggots. Shit, you dirty little cocksucker…”

Ray rears back and runs. Out of the theatre, out of the building, feet hitting the pavement and nothing in his head. Nothing in his head but the fear.

Tony isn’t behind him. Ray doesn’t look back.

***

It’s a week later, late afternoon. Tony’s sitting at the top of the stairs outside the shopping center, propped back on his elbows, long legs stretched out over the dirty concrete. Thick sunset light is coming through in long shafts around him, painting Tony’s face and his right hand gold.

“Hey, homes,” Ray says, carefully.

Tony’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t answer. His eyes look tired, deep-sunken and shadowed, and dark stubble is growing in across his scalp.

Ray wants to touch it, feel the nap, the velvety prickle under his hands.

“So I…,” he starts out, hesitant, slow. He’s not used to this. Words always come out easy for him, debate and anger and useless meaningless prattle.

Except for when they don’t, and he’s left tongue-tied and stumbling. Ray just doesn’t know what to say.

“Don’t fucking bother, Ray,” Tony says, so quietly that Ray can barely hear him. “It’s okay, you don’t need to apologise. I’m fine.”

Ray finally opens his mouth at that, shaking his head quick and outraged. “Shit, Poke, it’s not fucking okay. I ran and left you. It’s not okay, and I’m sorry, and…”

Tony stands up and takes three quick steps over, shaking his head.

“It’s okay. It’s always going to be fucking like this, isn’t it? We’re gonna join the Marines, and the shit that could rain down on us will be a hundred times worse than this. So we better start getting used to it, dog. Suck it up and pretend for the man.” He’s smiling now, with that cynical twist to his mouth Ray hates.

But it isn’t okay, Ray wants to say. It isn’t.

He looks at Tony’s face, and doesn’t say anything at all. Tony knows, and there’s not a thing in the world he can say to make it better.

Instead he swears, brief and vicious, and leans in.

And kisses Tony full on the mouth, right there in the middle of the plaza in the golden afternoon.


End file.
